Harrie's oh-so-famous Pancakes: an extraordinary foam covered cappuccino; the old chap at the table to my left looks like Grahamstown-based poet Don Maclennan; the three Gauteng bikers to my right are eating salads and health stuff, they are talking about the fact that Amazon doesn't courier books here via the SA post office anymore because the merchandise gets stolen. Talking of honesty and realted stuff, I also notice that three of their bikes, just in front of the open window, has silver duck tape stuck over digits of their number plates, one's gone so far as to cover two digits of his plate with a suprisingly clean white sweat band. This must be to avoid being trapped when metal-grinding past the cops and their cameras (I wonder what the guys in the post office doing all the opening and stealing of parcels war?).
Don gets up and is a most unlikely Don - he's very short and squat; it can't be him. Damn, because there's some compliments I wanted to pay.
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